The Redemption of a Rogue, стр. 57
Oscar ignored the question and gave a slight nod for Huntington.
“This is my partner and fellow investigator, Mr. Edward Barber,” Huntington continued, motioning to the Black man who was coming forward, hand extended.
“A pleasure,” Oscar said, and meant it, for while he might have issues with Selina and Nicholas, he had none with her companions. “I’ve heard good things about your investigative prowess, gentlemen.”
Lady Lovell moved to the door and took Oscar’s brother’s hand. Nicholas didn’t take his eyes off Oscar, but allowed her to draw him to Imogen. “This is Nicholas Gillingham. Nicholas, this is my best and truest friend, Imogen Huxley.”
“He’s also my brother,” Oscar interjected, and for a moment he thought Imogen might fall over from the shock of it all.
“Nicholas who you…” Imogen whispered, and Lady Lovell nodded to fill in a gap Oscar didn’t understand. “I-I didn’t know he was related to Oscar…Mr. Fitzhugh.”
“Neither did I until Mr. Fitzhugh’s name came up in your letter,” Lady Lovell said, and glanced at Oscar.
Nicholas came forward, slow with his cane. Oscar found himself glancing at his leg. Everyone knew Gillingham had nearly died in the war. Now he found himself wondering more about him. He’d always all but ignored his existence, going so far as to ban him from his club.
“We’ve never met,” Gillingham said as he extended a hand. “Nicholas Gillingham.”
It was a firm handshake when Oscar took it. His brother didn’t posture or pull. And when he let him go, his gaze wasn’t cold or cruel, rather kind but also curious.
Oscar cleared his throat and turned away. He didn’t want kind. He didn’t want curious. Not from the siblings he’d made a purposeful effort to avoid.
“And I recognize our other companions,” he said in the most breezy tone he could manage. “The Duke and Duchess of Willowby, if I’m not mistaken. Friends of our only legitimate sibling, the great Duke of Roseford. I assume you’re here on his behest?”
He couldn’t keep the bitterness from his tone, and he noted how Willowby’s eyes narrowed in protective annoyance. “I am a friend of Robert’s,” he admitted. “But I’m not here because of that connection. My wife and I are in the War Department, Mr. Fitzhugh. I’m here on behalf of king and country.”
Imogen gasped, and again her hand fluttered like she wanted to touch him in this moment. “You are the agents?”
The Duchess of Willowby arched a brow at her husband. “You act as though you’ve heard of us.”
“Only rumors of your existence,” Imogen breathed. “And that you were titled. He really is a duke, Oscar.”
“I am that,” Willowby said with a shrug. “Amongst a great many other things. My title might be the least interesting thing about me.”
Oscar glared at him. He supposed that was this man’s attempt to offer some kind of comfort when it came to this situation. That somehow he was better than the others who might hold his title. Well, he would believe that when he saw it. Which meant they should get down to business.
“And now that we’ve participated in Mrs. Huntington’s required pleasantries,” Oscar said with a quick glance for Selina, who glared at him in return, “perhaps we can get down to what we’re all here for.”
“Imogen, where have you been? What happened?” Aurora said, grasping her friend’s hands and drawing her to a settee in the middle of the room. The rest took places around them.
Imogen shifted and her cheeks darkened. Oscar could feel her discomfort from across the room, and a wild and protective instinct rose up in him. Like he could just sweep her up and carry her away and never make her face this terrible thing ever again.
A patently foolish idea considering this room was full of people who might actually be able to leverage their connections to save her.
“I didn’t expect to be telling this story for an audience,” she whispered.
Lady Lovell squeezed her hand. “They’re friends. I promise that. They can all be trusted.”
Oscar shook his head and poured a splash of madeira into a glass. Imogen liked madeira in the afternoon if she had a drink. Sherry was for before supper. He knew that like he knew a dozen things about her. Like that she was stronger than she believed. Like that she was better than perhaps he deserved.
He moved to the settee and handed the wine over to Imogen. She lifted her gaze to him, and again their eyes held. He tried with all his might to pour all his support into her, tried to show her that he would not walk away, nor let anyone hurt her in this room or any other.
“You have nothing to be ashamed of,” he said softly. “And you owe them nothing. None of them were invited, so they can all get the fuck out of my club.”
Imogen swallowed as she glanced around at the gathering of strangers. His family…but strangers. “Can you truly help me?”
The Duke of Willowby stepped forward. “I think we can, Mrs. Huxley. If we understand what is going on. But if you don’t wish to tell the story to an audience, we can step out. Only my wife would stay to record your statement if that would make you more comfortable.”
Oscar glanced at the duke again. It was a kind offer. One he hadn’t expected and yet appreciated.
“But she’ll repeat it to you all anyway,” Imogen said, letting out her breath in a shaky sigh. “She would have to in order for you to understand.” No one denied that, and Imogen glanced up at Oscar again. As if he somehow had the answers for her. How he wished he did. “It will be worth the humiliation,” she said at last.
He clenched his teeth at the absolute defeat in her stare. The pain that she would have to tell this horrible story yet again to an audience of outsiders. He